


Stop This Train

by cyanideSweetheart



Category: Homestuck
Genre: And Dave runs away, Based off a song, I'm just gonna shut up now and let you read this, In the description, It says so, M/M, Sadstuck, kind of Sadstuck, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 09:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideSweetheart/pseuds/cyanideSweetheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you have just run away from home.</p><p>You were fed up with Bro's shit. Endless days of strifes, seas of smuppets, and most of all, Cal. That puppet was posessed, and you swore to God it watched you in your sleep.</p><p>So, done with Bro, with the city, you stole one of his many credit cards and hopped a cargo train to nowhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop This Train

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you have just run away from home.

You were fed up with Bro's shit. Endless days of strifes, seas, of smuppets(you swore he was materializing them from thin air or something, he didn't have time to sew), and most of all, _Cal._ That creepy-ass puppet that did nothing but stare at you and _grin,_ like it knew something you didn't. You swore to God that thing was posessed. It watched you in your sleep, you knew.

Bro was hardly ever around. He only usually showed up to initiate a strife or bring in groceries(which happened once in a blue moon; your entire diet basically consisted of whatever takeout or delivery food the two of you could find), and you hated it. Hated him, even. He didn't care about you,and if he did, he had a fan-fuckin'- _tas_ tic way of showing it. You raised a kid with stunted emotional growth and neglect issues, Bro. Great job. Parent of the year award to you, man. Shit should have a ceremony or something, just to show the world how great of a parent you are.

Seriously.

So, done with Bro, done with the city, you stole one of his many credit cards(he wouldn't notice it was missing) and hopped on a cargo train destined to who-knows-where. On your way out of the city, you picked up a few books on survival(just in case), a reading light, and a dozen packs of batteries. With your extra pair of shades tucked safely away in your captchalog(along with other assorted supplies, like several changes of clothes and your laptop) and many, many swords nestled in your strife specibus, you were prepared. So totally prepared. Prepared is flipping its shit at how completely and totally prepared you were.

You hadn't expected running away to be this boring.

You've done nothing for the past six hours but but sit on the cold metal floor of an empty train car and stare blankly into space. Bro will probably be partying at one of his usual dives right now, you think absently. Drunk off his ass, most likely. He does that sometimes.

 _Or,_ a small voice in the back of your mind whispers, _he could be home right now, wondering where you are. Worrying, maybe._

Ridiculous, you retort, slouching into yourself. Bro doesn't worry about anything. Especially not about me. He doesn't care enough to worry.

But for a moment, your bottom lip trembles, your face crumples, and your eyes sting with tears. You want to go home, to stop the train and run all the fucking way back, even if it meant dealing with Bro and Cal and those damn smuppets. You. Don't. Care. You're fifteen, just a kid, and your life has only just begun. Running away is the worst thing you can do right now, but here you are, making possibly the worst decision in your life. The urge to let out a pitiful, pained whine almost overwhelms you for a moment. Then, just as quickly as it left, your famous(not really, you were nobody, how could it be famous) poker face is in place, you blink back the tears, and you go back to staring at the rusted metal walls of the train car, utterly alone and counting the seconds as they go by. 

At some point, you fall asleep. Nightmares plague and torment you the whole night, fitful dreams of nameless terrors and monsters the size of multiple cities with cruel beaks the size of skyscrapers and hundred-mile-long tentacles. And eyes. Eyes everywhere, always watching, and the monsters whispered.

You don't get much sleep that night.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: This isn't ever going to be finished, not in the way I planned it to be. It'll stay as a one-shot, so sorry to all those who were expecting more.


End file.
